


The Choice and their Destiny

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [23]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Apocalypse, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Ineffable Bureaucracy, Mental Link, Multi, No Smut, Other, Plot, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Pollution (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: The first horseman is ready to ride through Heaven. Assisted by the Archangel Gabriel and Prince Beelzebub, the Apocalypse is about to be back on.But first, (a somewhat ragged) Beelzebub has to use tandem teleportation to get Pestilence to the Lobby. Beelzebub gets to see what went on in Pestilence's head on that horrible day that Pollution decided to present them as a gift to him.Part 23 of a series.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Pestilence (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Pollution (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Pestilence/Pollution (Good Omens)
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	The Choice and their Destiny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youngshii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngshii/gifts).



> CW: Attempted rape
> 
> If I missed anything, hit me up!

Pestilence cupped both of his hands to his mouth. He brought them to his lips and breathed out. There was a glow inside his hands, and when he opened them, two coins lay on one palm. Beelzebub picked them up.

“I’m glad that you had these...” Pestilence said. “I thought Heaven and Hell had ceased hostilities.”

“It was personal,” Beelzebub said. “But it negated all of the contracts that I signed. It’s good that War is on her way. Nuriel committed an act of war, and I mean to retaliate.”

Pestilence smiled, showing his perfect teeth, all the way to the very sharp canines. “Apocalypse is back on, then?”

“Oh, I think the world will continue with only two angels remaining,” Beelzebub said, mildly. “After all, what would you two do with yourselves without the humans?”

“Torment the demons, I guess.”

Pestilence meant it in humor, but the old feral grin played on his lips. Beelzebub’s own smile was more subdued as they replied to him.

“Sweet child,” Beelzebub said, affectionately. “We’re tormented enough, I promise you.”

“Are we taking my lightning?” Gabriel asked, effectively breaking the tension that Beelzebub’s words had cast over the area.

“No, you’d fry him,” Beelzebub replied.

“Oh...” Gabriel said.

“Tandem teleportation,” Beelzebub answered Gabriel’s unasked question.

“Is that a good idea?”

“No. Not a good idea at all,” Beelzebub agreed. “But it’s all I’ve got. I have no idea how long Sandalphon is going to be contained in _his own_ prison. Probably not long, and I’d like the benefit of surprise.” They sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose. “What was Raphael thinking?”

“He...left Sandalphon in something that Sandalphon made?” Pestilence asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Moron,” Pestilence spat.

“So, what’s your plan, Beelzebub? Just going to burst in with an army of demons?” Gabriel asked.

“I’d like to limit casualties,” Beelzebub explained. “This is MY war. I’m taking you, only because I know you’d follow me if I tried to leave you. I’m taking Pestilence so he can sicken the angels. War shows up when and where she is needed--have you ever seen her manifest in spilt blood?”

Gabriel grimaced and looked down. “Unfortunately.”

“War comes. On her own schedule.” Beelzebub paused. “Nobody else bleeds for this. For me. We won’t need them, anyways. Not with Pestilence...Not with the loss of their healers.”

“Who was the other healer?” Pestilence asked.

He was still idly stroking their belly, and Beelzebub might have found it charming if it wasn’t for the hatred in Pollution’s eyes.

“Aziraphale,” Beelzebub said.

“The Principality that you wanted protected,” Pestilence said. “Who is he to you?”

“My son,” Beelzebub said, finding the word came more easily now, with Raphael gone. “My firstborn.”

“How many sons do you have?” he asked.

“Two natural, and one adopted,” Beelzebub replied.

“Adopted?”

“I raised you, did I not?”

“We haven’t had the best relationship, _Mom_ ,” Pestilence said, and the hand that had been touching their belly went behind his head.

He ruffled his auburn hair.

He smiled his best “aw, shucks” grin.

“We have not,” Beelzebub agreed. “Aziraphale is the only one of you that I truly wanted, and the only one who I was allowed to love. But you...Pestilence. You were the one I raised. Our difficulties...you must not blame yourself--”

“Gag me,” Pollution said. They shoved the blackened crown into Pestilence’s hands, where it silvered. “I’m going to fuck whoever’s playing ‘Cupid Shuffle’ for the fifth time. And I’m not stopping until they’re used up.” They began to walk off, but locked eyes with Pestilence over one shoulder. “Come back to me covered in angel blood, lover. I’ll be ready for you.”

Beelzebub watched them saunter away. They all watched as Pollution unhooked a latch, and walked into the noise of the boisterous humans.

Beelzebub idly wondered if there would be any survivors.

“Our natures were always opposed, Pestilence,” they continued. “What you were meant to sow, I was meant to destroy. God never allowed us anything but what we have now.”

“What’s that?”

“Respect, I would hope. And you have always had my affection.” Beelzebub found that physical comfort worked best with Pestilence, so they disentangled themselves from Gabriel and went to the boy who had once crawled into their bed, afraid of storms. “My boy, my dear boy.”

Pestilence accepted their presence, their touch, their comfort. As he had when penicillin ravaged his physicality, and he was as frail as onion paper. As he had before then, when Western countries developed reliable sewage systems. As he had in the mid-90’s, when AZT was developed, and then the Z-pack. He curled down, allowing their small hands to find the soft hair on the back of his neck, to cradle his face on their shoulder, and to feel his weight sink into them.

“Just for the record,” he mumbled in their ear, “I’m not calling the Archangel ‘Daddy’.”

Beelzebub laughed. A choked-up barking sound. “I’d never ask you to,” they assured him, laying a kiss on his exposed neck. “You’re burning up.”

“I am,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my germs to myself until we get Upstairs.”

“Where’s our nearest entrance?” Gabriel asked.

“Ugh...there’s an entrance to Hell in the French Quarter and at the state university, but I don’t think there’s anything usable for Heaven. Not a lot of maintenance at the end times. I was thinking we ought to use the front doors.”

“That...would surprise them,” Gabriel said, with a shrug.

“I forgot to ask if there’s anyone there that you wanted protected?”

Gabriel chuckled, and it was a dark sound. “As I don’t particularly want to be tried for treason, nope. Seriously, if you can catch the Almighty Herself, I would not stop you.”

“No zealot like a convert,” said Pestilence. “When, then?”

“Now.” Beelzebub held Pestilence tightly to themself. They looked over at Gabriel. “We’ll meet you in the lobby.”

Gabriel nodded, remarkably stern-faced for a man in nothing but a terry bathrobe. He vanished, and Beelzebub followed.

Beelzebub felt immediately that something had gone awry. They were not entirely surprised to find themself walking through a long-dead orchard. Hand-in-hand with Pollution, who was smiling their wide and wicked grin.

“Over here,” they said, their voice already losing the childish sheen that polished it for this long. They would be settling soon into the rich contralto that was their true voice.

Still, they wore the mask of an innocent child. It was a very good mask. It had fooled Beelzebub.

Beelzebub could feel young Pestilence’s anticipation. He didn’t know what they were showing him. A surprise.

Older Pestilence would be watching from Beelzebub’s broken body, tasting their fear and the sickness that Pollution had poisoned them with. The beginnings of a foggy understanding, that Pollution was not the innocent that they pretended to be.

And there they were.

Pestilence didn’t understand at first, and tried to go to Beelzebub. Pollution held him tightly in place.

“I did this for you,” they said.

“You...what?” Pestilence asked.

He looked again, and Beelzebub could see how frail they looked to Pestilence.

“It’s a gift,” Pollution said. “My gift to you...”

“A gift?”

“Let’s take them. Together,” Pollution said. They dropped his hand, and went to Beelzebub’s side. “They’re weak. Foolish. They thought that _I_ was weak, some child in need of their _protection_.”

They spat the last word, and Pestilence felt the venom in it. Before his eyes, Pollution grew. No longer a little child, but a youth of his own age. Beautiful to him--slender and lithe, with golden skin and white hair that fell longer than it had before. Their raiments did not grow with them, revealing the swell of their bust, the skin of their thighs, the curve of their hips.

Pollution rolled Beelzebub onto their back, and Pestilence saw their eyes for the first time. His breath stopped.

But he did not look away.

He could see the fear in their eyes. Helpless Beelzebub, poisoned and weak. Their lips cracked and bleeding, their bright blue eyes glassy and distant. They met Pestilence’s gaze, and mouthed something. Beelzebub remembered pleading with the boy, voicelessly. Pestilence didn’t know what they were trying to communicate.

Pestilence’s mouth began to water, and he admonished himself for it. He wanted this gift. He wanted to do as Pollution asked, to take them. To love them as an adult. To share them with Pollution. He wanted to know what sounds they would make for him, what their skin would feel like under his hands.

He felt hot. He radiated his heat. His need.

Pollution untied the sash on Past Beelzebub’s robes and opened them to Pestilence’s hungry eyes.

God, they were so small. When did they become so small?

“Were they made like this? Do you think?” Pollution asked, running a deft hand from Beelzebub’s neck, through the vale of their breasts, down their belly, to fondle their cock. They lifted it, giving Pestilence a clear view of the little mouth underneath. “Do you think God made them this way?”

Pestilence knew the answer immediately. “God must have,” he said. “Vanity is not their sin.”

“Come,” Pollution said.

Past Beelzebub whimpered under Pollution’s deft touch, but they did not harden. Pestilence felt sick, and Beelzebub felt it. Pestilence may convey illness to the humans, but he never got sick himself. It was a strange feeling for him. He was repulsed. Not by Past Beelzebub, not by Pollution. Just the situation.

And himself. That he had wanted something so much that Pollution, who may not be a child but still had a child’s understanding of certain things, saw fit to provide it. And to provide it in this way.

“Come,” Pollution said, again.

Pestilence shook his head. “No.”

Beelzebub could feel his heart breaking. This was the end of his time with his mentor.

“You wanted them.”

“Not like this.”

This was the beginning of his time with his lover. The beginning of all the misery that he would spread with Pollution.

“How then?”

“Willing,” Pestilence said, softly. “I wanted them willing.”

It surprised him. He did not want an invasion. He wanted an invitation. Something that his mentor would never give.

“I can do that,” Pollution said, with a laugh. “It’s just a different poison.”

“No,” Pestilence said. He turned away.

His feet found the path to the stable.

“Where are you going?” Pollution called after him.

“I’m coming back,” he said, over his shoulder. “Don’t hurt them.”

Beelzebub walked with him, inside of him. They were now privy to the avalanche of thoughts and memories that besieged him as he saddled his horse and packed his bags. And Pollution’s.

He remembered the way the candlelight flickered around them as Beelzebub taught him how to use a spoon and knife. He remembered the way that the rain glistened in their hair as they took him by the hand and wandered the huge market. The warmth of their skin pressed against him as the thunderheads rolled over them. The way they held him a bit tighter as he squirmed. Patient explanations of different plants and animals, which flowers were food and which could kill. Which animals could hurt him, and which were harmless. The beautiful sunrises in purple, gold, and pink. The orange sunsets glimmering on autumn leaves. His first snow, and the last one. The last one where his breath frosted silver as the snow melted on his feverish skin.

The way his stomach fluttered whenever Beelzebub touched him, gentle hands adjusting his clothes, or knocking the snow off of his shoulders, or just finding his face and running an affectionate thumb over the apple of his cheek. Their gaze softened by affection. Real affection.

Not the passion that burned between himself and Pollution, but something bright. Something that Pollution, who was built for nothing but such things, something that Pollution wanted desperately to taint.

His horse saddled, Pestilence led her into the orchard. He paused and pulled down an apple. It was streaked with red and very ripe. The fruit here was always ripe, except in the winter.

Pestilence fed the apple to his mare, who took it gratefully.

Then he led the horse to Pollution, who waited beside his debilitated mentor. Past Beelzebub’s eyes were closed. They tensed as Pollution dragged their nails over the skin of their chest and belly.

Beelzebub remembered the sensation. Remembered how much they hated Pollution’s hands on them. How they hated the words that they’d whispered to them, about what they could expect when Pestilence returned. About how pathetic Beelzebub had been, and how much Pollution planned to relish this. How they planned to take their time in dismantling any affection that Pestilence might have for his joyless, useless mentor.

Past Beelzebub opened their eyes and cried out to Pestilence.

Pestilence felt that cry like a knife, burning deep in his guts and twisting.

“Pollution,” he said. “Come.”

Pollution stood up, questioning him with their eyes. He swept them up and settled them in his saddle. He mounted behind them.

“Are we leaving?” Pollution asked.

“Yes,” Pestilence said.

“You didn’t like my gift?”

 _No_ , he thought, and Beelzebub felt the raw and angry wound that Pollution had inflicted.

What he had done was to pull the reigns, turn the horse, and ride away.

Loving Pollution meant leaving Beelzebub. Pestilence thought that Beelzebub would understand. He and Beelzebub might undo each other’s work, but there was respect there. Affection lived in the quiet times.

Beelzebub had affection to spare for Pollution, but Pollution had no love for the little demon. Pestilence knew that, too.

So he made his choice. And he rode into the future with his lover, somehow secure in the fact that Beelzebub’s door would be open when he needed it.

It was, and Beelzebub didn’t know if they were a fool for it. For the compassion that was their most basic nature.

Beelzebub landed in the lobby, still holding Pestilence in their arms.

“Tandem teleportation...” they grumbled.

“Again?” Gabriel asked, miracling himself out of his terry robe and into his suit.

“Yes,” they said, and ran their fingers through Pestilence’s hair. “Are you alright?”

“Did you...?”

“Same place as you, but you were in my head and I was in yourzz.”

Pestilence blushed. “I--I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Beelzebub said, softly, releasing him and straightening the lapels on his riding leathers. “I felt it all, Pestilenzze. I know.”

Gabriel looked confused.

“I’ll explain,” Beelzebub told him. “After.”

“After,” Gabriel agreed.

“Shall we, then?” Pestilence asked. “I’m ready.”

Beelzebub used a miracle to trade the satin robe that they’d been wearing for their suit and regalia. They tapped their pocket and felt Pestilence’s coins clink together. The weight of the little metal disks was a comfort.

Pestilence stepped in front of Beelzebub and handed them the silver crown. “Would you?” he asked, and knelt.

Beelzebub took the crown in their hands and laid it on Pestilence’s brow. The metal took on his heat, nearly burning Beelzebub’s hands. Pestilence rose and lowered his feverish lips to Beelzebub’s forehead. He murmured a few words, and Beelzebub felt the magic seal around them.

“You, too, asshole,” Pestilence said, grabbing Gabriel by the shoulders and kissing his forehead. He was rougher with the Archangel, but Beelzebub watched the spell seal around Gabriel.

“Was that necessary?” Gabriel asked.

“Unless you want to catch my plague and die.”

Gabriel looked at Beelzebub, who nodded. “It was necessary,” they confirmed.

“Let’s make them bleed,” Pestilence said.

Gabriel’s sword whispered into the material realm and found his hand. “Alright.”

Beelzebub said nothing. They simply took the Archangel’s hand and mounted the escalator, towards Heaven and their destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> For youngshii, who liked the last installment and has no gifts.
> 
> Missed you all. I've been sick, and then there were some hurricanes. I'm alright now, and hoping for regular updates.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> [Cupid Shuffle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h24_zoqu4_Q) is a song and dance from a fellow from my hometown. It got a lot of play when it first came out, and it's catchy as Hell.
> 
> AZT is an anti retroviral drug, the first solid blow against AIDS, and Z-pack treats HIV (as a maintenance drug) and also the flu.
> 
> Onion paper is that thin, translucent paper that old cheap Bibles are printed on.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile!


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